Give You the Mark or Give You Death
by KathyG
Summary: In story #13 of my end-times series, an imprisoned Tribulation believer who faces death for refusing the mark is anxious to get through to a brother who's serving time in the same prison for a crime previously committed. Can the angels help the believer convince his brother to turn his life over to Jesus in time? Or will the brother accept the mark and lose all hope of salvation?
1. Prologue

**GIVE YOU THE MARK OR GIVE YOU DEATH**

**By KathyG.**

**What would Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria do, if they found themselves during the end-times scenario prophesied in the Bible, prior to Jesus' coming? What kinds of assignments would they receive? How would they handle their assignments? This alternate-universe series is my attempt to answer that question, to surmise how the angels would handle the events of the Rapture and the Tribulation.**

**The first story in this ongoing series was written by Robin Day and myself. The rest, I am writing on my own.**

**In story #13 of my end-times series, an imprisoned Tribulation believer who faces death for refusing the mark is anxious to get through to a brother who's serving time in the same prison for a crime previously committed. Can the angels help the believer convince his brother to turn his life over to Jesus in time? Or will the brother accept the mark and lose all hope of salvation?**

**Alas, this is the farthest I've gotten in writing my end-times series. It remains to be seen, at this point, whether it'll ever be finished or not.**

**PROLOGUE**

"I can't stand it!" The man's voice choked as he bent over, running his fingers against the cool concrete pavement beneath him. "In the morning, we're going to be forced to choose between the implant and death, and my brother is not ready to meet God!"

Wiping beads of sweat off his forehead, Roger Jackson raised his head to gaze across the prison yard at the towering concrete walls surrounding it. He had been transferred from the Los Angeles jail to the state prison in San Quentin the day before—the same prison where his younger brother, Larry, had been incarcerated for the past four years. Roger had been arrested, less than a week before, for refusing to take the mark when some policemen had raided the home of a wealthy friend who had stocked up on food before the war in the Middle East had started.

He, along with the others who had regularly visited that friend so they could be fed, had been condemned to immediate imprisonment without trial. That morning, all the prisoners had been told, during lunch, that in the morning, an implant site and a statue of Antonio Puccini would be set up in the prison yard so that all could receive the chip and worship the statue. Those who did so would be allowed to go free, unless they were serving sentences for crimes committed.

_And I know what awaits all who refuse,_ he thought. _A guillotine will also be set up there. Which means I'm going to die tomorrow morning._ He sighed. _At least, thanks to my friend, I didn't die of starvation. If God hadn't kept his food supply going, we wouldn't have lasted this long—none of us._

The 35-year-old man leaned his medium-height frame against the concrete wall, brushing his brown hair out of his hazel eyes. He then rubbed the cleft in his chin, deep in thought. In a few minutes, he would have to return to the huge room that had been converted into a dormitory for all the prisoners brought in for refusing the implant, as there were not enough cells to hold them all. He meant to enjoy the late-afternoon November sunlight as long as he could. In less than two hours, the sun would set, and the last night of his life would set in.

Roger couldn't stop worrying about his brother, Larry, who was housed in another part of the prison. Larry Jackson had long been a bitter, hardened man with a genuine hostility toward God. He had turned to a life of crime in his late teens, and his latest criminal act had resulted in his current prison sentence. Now the state intended to make both prisoners have the chip implanted in their skin and worship Antonio Puccini's statue. The chip implant, he knew, could be used to make purchases and to sell. No money could be debited from one's bank account without it. Yet, to accept the implant would cost Roger his soul.

He knew that God would give him the grace to refuse the implant and to face death, but Larry didn't have that protection. Unless the younger man turned to God before that moment arrived, his eternal fate would be sealed the next morning.

With a sigh, Roger rested his face in his hands. "Please, God," he prayed, "hear my prayer for Larry! Help my brother, and help me." He took a deep, shuddering breath, as he pressed the toe of his shoe against the hard, unyielding pavement. _If only I had my Bible with me!_ he thought.

Unknown to him, five angels stood in a row near the wall, watching him. "Roger Jackson," the heavy-set black angel said. "He's been a believer since shortly after the Rapture. He and his brother have lived in California their whole lives."

She paused to finger the brooch on her chest sparkling in the sunlight. As she swung her head to look from angel to angel, glittering diamond earrings swung sideways on her earlobes. "Roger has never been in trouble with the law before. He was a good boy, growing up, and an upstanding adult until now. But it took being left behind in the Rapture to get his attention. Now that he's a believer, he's anxious to see his younger brother become one, too."

The supervisor angel's eyes shone with approval, then she shook her head. "His brother's been a prisoner here for four years now. He was convicted of armed robbery, not long before the Rapture, and sent here." Sadness creased her face. "Unfortunately, the prison won't allow any contact between the true criminals and the political prisoners sent here for refusing the mark."

Andrew nodded agreement. "No, they won't. And that really frustrates Roger." Thrusting his hands into his pants pockets, he sighed. "Larry's been in trouble with the law for years. He's been in jail for one crime after another, off and on, since his teen years. His last conviction took place when he was sentenced to 10 years in San Quentin for armed robbery. He's been a prisoner here ever since." He bit his lower lip, sadness creasing his face.

Gloria scanned the prisoners milling around in the yard, chatting. All were political prisoners, she had noticed; not one genuine criminal had been allowed into the yard. It pleased her to see that not one bore the implant in his right hand or forehead.

"I remember this prison." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "God sent us here to minister to another prisoner, a few years ago."

"And to the warden," Tess agreed. "To Tony and Miguel Sintana, and to their sister, Juanita."

Gloria inclined her head, remembering. Miguel had been a prisoner executed for being a Christian, and his brother, Antonio, had been the prison warden. Their sister, Juanita, had lived in Los Angeles. Andrew had taken Miguel Home when he had died by lethal injection.

Gloria turned to face Tess. "Is Tony Sintana still the warden of this prison?"

Andrew answered for Tess. "No, Gloria. I took him Home a short while ago." He folded his arms across his chest. "The government wanted to make the prison wardens take the implant first—all over the state—but Tony refused."

He paused. "He was executed via the guillotine just two weeks ago. He faced death with grace and courage." He bit his lower lip. "I also took Home his sister, Juanita, a month ago. She was killed by a burglar."

Monica nodded. "I'm so glad Tony's with Miguel and Juanita now. They're in the Father's arms, all of them."

Tess faced the other angels. "That's right, and we can take solace in that. The state has just assigned a new warden to run this prison. Unfortunately, he has already accepted the implant, so we can't help him. But we can help the prisoners who are still undecided."

Monica inclined her head. "Yes, and we only have hours to do our jobs." She glanced at the fluffy wisps of clouds drifting overhead as she spoke. "Because the prisoners will be threatened into taking the implant tomorrow morning, and it's late afternoon now."

"Yes." Pursing her lips at the thought, Tess turned to the Hispanic angel, Rafael, who stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Your job will be to help Larry make the right decision. Ours will be to encourage Roger." She nodded toward Monica as she spoke, then turned to Andrew. "You will act as a liaison, Angel Boy."

The angel of death nodded agreement. "Yes. But, uh…" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Don't you give me any back talk, Mr. Halo!" Tess wagged her finger. "God has sent you to be on standby for this assignment, because you'll be taking Roger Home tomorrow morning. Larry, too, possibly." She gazed into his gentle green eyes, her own softening. "You've been taking Home one person after another, without stopping, for the past several months. You've had practically no respite in all that time, and now it's wearing you down. The Father wants you to take a momentary breather before you take Home your next assignment, so you can be refreshed in your spirit."

Andrew grimaced. "I could certainly use the refreshment, Tess. Ever since the fifth seal was opened a few months ago, every angel of death has been pressed into full-time service, just escorting the souls of martyred believers." He exhaled slowly, sagging his shoulders. "It's wearing us all down. We all need a breather."

Tess patted the angel of death's shoulder. "Well, helping Roger and Larry beforehand will give you that breather." Chuckling, Andrew raised his hands in surrender.

Tess turned to Rafael. Her eyes twinkled as she looked sideways at Andrew. "Angel Boy, have you fitted Rafael for his prisoner's uniform?"

The others laughed. Rafael chuckled ruefully, as he glanced down to find a blue prison uniform adorning his body; his shadow stretched sideways from his body on the pavement. Andrew's tan shirt and blue jeans miraculously changed into a guard's uniform. A revolver dangled at his side.

"Well, Rafael…" The angel of death laughed, exchanging a glance with Tess. "I guess I'll be assigning you to room with Larry."

Rafael shrugged. "Wherever the Father sends me, I will go." He looked Andrew in the eyes. "He has already sent me to this prison repeatedly."

Andrew laughed again. "I know." He patted Rafael's shoulder. "You've done a great job warning prisoners in recent weeks to not take the implant. Many of them have accepted Jesus as a result, and they're ready to die when the time comes. I'd far rather take them all Home tomorrow morning, than watch them go to Hell a short time from now in the judgments that are coming."

Rafael grimaced. "So would I."

Silently, he followed Andrew toward the nearest entrance. With arms folded across their chest, the remaining angels watched them stride through the doorway. A moment later, a whistle echoed throughout the prison yard. The prisoners lined up to re-enter the building, guards standing at intervals to make sure they stayed orderly.

"Rafael's streetwise way may be the key to Larry's heart," Monica commented. "Surely, if anyone can get through to Larry, it's Rafael."

Tess and Gloria did not answer. The heavy iron door clanged shut behind the last angel and the final guard. Silence descended over the prison yard, broken only by the singing of swallows, and the soft cooing of a snow-white dove landing on the window ledge of one of the cells. 

**END OF PROLOGUE **

4


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

"Open 34!" Andrew called. The cell door slid open; he marched Rafael into the cell. A 34-year-old man wearing a blue prison uniform sat crouched on the thin mattress of one of the cots, glaring at him. Short and stout, he had black hair and olive skin. Cigarette butts littered the ashtray on the table; a half-empty package of cigarettes and a cigarette lighter lay next to it. The faint, acrid smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. A worn toothbrush lay on the edge of the sink in the back of the cell.

The California sunshine poured in through the bars crisscrossing the window set high in the wall above one of the cots. A light bulb in the brick wall on the left shed a dim light throughout the cell.

"Who are you?" he growled. "I've never seen you before." He shifted his gaze from Andrew's eyes to the angel's forehead.

Andrew loosened his grip on Rafael's arm. "Hello, Larry. My name is Andrew, and I'm covering for Scott. He's sick." He nodded toward the Hispanic angel. "This is Rafael, and he's going to be your roommate for now."

Larry rose to his feet, clenching his fists. "How dare you bring this—this _Chicano—_?!" His voice rose to a screech. "I have no use for Chicanos. I hate them! Send him away! I don't want him in my cell."

Andrew shook his head, a smile fleeting across his face. "Sorry, Jackson. Can't do that." He turned toward the cell door. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted."

He left, closing the door behind him. Leaning against the wall, Rafael gazed at the hostile man. As the coo of a dove startled him, Larry whirled around to shake his fist at the dove perched on his window ledge.

"Go away!" he shouted. The dove spread its wings and flew off. Larry whirled on Rafael, fury in his eyes, then gave the angel the finger.

"You're a—a…" Larry shook his head. For the next several minutes, he called the angel every racial epithet he could think of. All the while, Rafael just stood motionless, not responding.

"What is the matter with you?" Larry finally roared. "Why do you just stand there and say nothing?!"

Rafael shrugged. "What good would it do?" He folded his arms across his chest. "Your name-calling's not going to get me transferred to another cell, so you're wasting your time."

Unable to think of a suitable retort, Larry just glared at him. With a weary sigh, he slowly trudged toward the table. Removing a cigarette from his pack, he held it to his lips and lit it, then returned to his cot. Smoke began to wreathe around his head. Ignoring Rafael, Larry just stared at the wall opposite.

Rafael sagged his shoulders and shook his head. Despite his efforts to appear unfazed by Larry's hostility and insults, the Hispanic angel couldn't help being distressed at Larry's attitude. It was going to be most difficult to minister God's love to this criminal if his prejudice against Hispanics made any rapport between them impossible.

_Father, what should I do?_ he silently prayed. _Larry isn't open to anything I try to say._

"Just trust God and wait on His timing." Tess' smoky alto voice startled him; he whirled to find the supervisor angel leaning against the cell door, on the opposite side. "God is doing a work in Larry's heart even at this moment. Just wait for the right time and follow the Father's leading."

Not daring to call Larry's attention to their conversation, Rafael smiled and nodded his acquiescence. Tess vanished.

Meanwhile, back in the room where the prisoners gathered to chat and engage in other activities, Roger sat slumped on the carpeted floor against the wall, carpet tufts flattened beneath his outstretched palms. The light bulb overhead sent a sickly glow illuminating the dull-green walls. The other political prisoners gathered near the room's edges or at the tables, chatting. Roger paid no attention to them, but sat fearing for his brother. He had worried about Larry ever since he'd learned that the state was going to chip the prisoners the next morning. Time was running out for him. If only Roger could talk to him!

_Larry's spent most of his life in trouble,_ he thought. Only five years before, his brother had robbed a small grocery store at gunpoint. Fortunately, he had killed no one in the process, but he had been arrested shortly afterward and detained in the city jail until his trial and sentencing ended, a year later. Shortly afterward, he'd been moved to the prison in San Quentin. Now Roger was also a San Quentin prisoner, and soon, both men would be forced to make a life-or-death decision. Only, in this case, the choice was eternal life or eternal death!

Roger leaned against the wall, shoulders slumped, and drew a small color photograph out of his pants pocket. A serene-looking elderly woman smiled up at him.

_I miss you, Grandma,_ he thought. _You were our stability, our mainstay, when we were growing up. Larry misses you, too, although he won't admit it._

He inserted the picture back into his pocket, then folded his hands upward. _Please, God, hear my prayer!_ he silently begged. _Please don't turn a deaf ear to my prayers for Larry. Please, God, save my brother._

"God always hears you, Roger."

Roger stiffened his back, as he jerked up his head to see a beautiful, slender woman in a blue dress kneeling gracefully before him. Luxuriant reddish-brown hair hung below her shoulders. Pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes; her eyes radiated caring and compassion. An unearthly light poured off her body.

"Who…" he whispered.

"My name is Monica. I'm an angel, sent by God." The Irish-tongued angel smiled. "Why don't you tell me what has you so concerned?"

Brushing his hair back, Roger relaxed. "My brother is a prisoner here, too," he whispered, not daring to let the others hear him. Monica nodded. "He was convicted of armed robbery four years ago. He's been in trouble with the law for decades before that." He sighed. "He's always been so hard, Monica. He hates God, and he resents me for being a believer."

He bit his lower lip. "The state is going to make us all accept the implant tomorrow morning, on pain of death. I'm ready to die, Monica, but Larry's not! If he doesn't accept Jesus before then…" His voice trailed off.

Monica touched his arm. Her hand felt soft and comforting. "I know." Her voice sounded gentle. "God wants you to know that He has heard your prayers, and He is working on your brother. Just put Larry in God's hands, Roger. You have done your part, and the Father is pleased with you."

Dimples formed on Roger's face as gratitude flooded his heart. "Thank you." Monica vanished.

As he bowed his head, intending to resume his prayers, fingers dug into his upper arm, causing an explosion of throbbing pain. In the next instant, those fingers jerked him to his feet. Roger raised his head to find a burly guard standing before him, a number beginning with 666 tattooed on his right hand. Roger knew that the chip had been imbedded in this guard's hand just a week before.

"Who are you praying to?' the guard hissed. 

**END OF CHAPTER 1 **

3


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Roger took a deep breath. _Help me, God! Give me strength._ Out loud, he said, "To God."

The guard backhanded him; Roger staggered against the wall, intense pain shooting through his face. The whole room fell silent, as the other political prisoners gaped at the two.

"The _only_ god you may pray to is Antonio Puccini!" the guard roared. "And just to make sure you don't forget that—ever—I'm going to lock you up in the hole the rest of the day! In the morning, you're going to take that implant, and you're going to forget there ever was another god." His lips curled into a sneer. "Supposedly!"

He grabbed Roger by the arm again. Digging his fingernails into Roger's blue cotton shirt, the guard marched him out of the room and down the dimly-lit hall. He forced the prisoner down a flight of stairs into the basement and through another door to another hall.

_The hole,_ Roger thought. _So this is the hole!_

The guard stopped before a solid iron door and shoved his jangling keys into the lock. The door creaked open. "Get in there!"

He shoved Roger through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind him. The thumps of his boots faded into silence.

Roger looked around. A narrow cot, a commode, and a sink lined the wall on both sides, but the only light came from a single overhead light bulb. Since the hole lay underground, no sunlight came pouring in through a window.

Trembling, he staggered toward the cot and sank down onto its thin mattress. For a long moment, he sat slumped, gazing down at his legs, not moving.

"What am I going to do?" he asked himself. "Is this the way it's going to happen? I'm stuck in the hole until it's too late to help Larry?"

He bit his lower lip and took a deep, shuddering breath. Things were worse, now, than before—much worse! How would Roger ever manage to reach Larry now? His hopes of talking to his brother were virtually nil. He shook his head over and over.

_No way I can help Larry now!_ he thought. _Unless the guards bring him to the hole, too, I'm even more cut off from him than I was before!_

He took another deep breath, then huddled against the cold stone wall, shivering. _God has His hand on Larry! Monica told me that, and I mustn't forget it. God, my brother is in Your hands. Please help him! Amen._

Roger yanked a small-toothed comb out of his left pants pocket and drew it through his hair. As he laid it on the edge of the sink, the sound of jangling keys on the other side of the door caught his attention. Before he had a chance to react, the iron door creaked open again.

A guard he'd never seen before stepped through the entrance. This guard had sandy-brown hair, and a caring expression shone in his expressive green eyes. To Roger's relief, no tattooed number marred the guard's forehead. _Hope it's not on his hand either!_ he thought.

Forcing down a gulp, Roger rose to his feet. "Uh—hello."

"Hello." The guard smiled, raising his right hand. No number there, either, Roger noticed. "My name is Andrew, and I'm temporarily replacing a guard who fell ill recently. I just learned that you were brought to the hole." Roger nodded, biting his lip.

Andrew took a step toward the prisoner. "Don't be frightened—I'm not here to add to your punishment. I understand that your brother is also a prisoner here."

Roger nodded. "Yes. He is. I—I'm not allowed to see him."

"I know." A serious expression creased Andrew's face. "Do you have any messages you wish to send to your brother? I've brought a notebook, if you do." He held out a small spiral notebook to Roger.

Relief flooded the prisoner's heart, followed by apprehension. This could be the answer to his prayer! But what if the guard was setting him up for further punishment? Roger glanced from the notebook to Andrew in worried indecision.

"I'm not going to read what you write for Larry," Andrew promised. "You fold the note up, and I'll take it to your brother. No one but him will read what it says. I won't take it to the warden or to any of the other guards." He inserted his left hand into his pants pocket.

Nodding his thanks, Roger accepted the notebook and pencil. He squatted on the cot, positioning the notebook on his lap. For the next several minutes, he wrote a message to his brother.

"Hi, Larry," he wrote. "This is Roger. I'm a prisoner now, as you may have heard—I was arrested and sent here because I don't have the implant."

He paused. "I'm going to die tomorrow morning, because I'm going to refuse when they give me the ultimatum to accept that implant and worship that statue or else. I have good reason, my brother—if I take it, I will be condemned to Hell. I don't want to face that dread fate. I want to be in Heaven with God, and I want to come back with the Son of God when He returns."

He paused again, to rest his fingers on the crisp white page and to order his thoughts. _I pray that Larry heeds what I'm writing,_ he thought. _I must warn him to accept Jesus and be prepared to refuse the implant._

He took a deep breath, praying that God would give him the words to say. "They won't let me see you, so I'm writing you this note." He glanced up at Andrew, who nodded encouragingly. "I strongly urge you, Larry, not to take the implant! I mean it! Don't let them inject that chip in you or tattoo that number on your hand or forehead. And don't worship Puccini's statue, either. Antonio Puccini is not a god—he's a man. A man indwelt by the devil himself. Only God in Heaven is worthy of worship, and only He will receive mine."

He cleared his throat, then finished writing. "Please accept His Son, Jesus, into your heart, and let Him cleanse you of all wrong. Then you'll be ready to meet Him, and you and I will be together forever. I am praying for you, Larry, that you will make the right decision. And I will go on praying for you until they execute me."

He signed, "Your loving brother, Roger."

He tore the message off the notebook and folded it into quarters. He handed the folded note, the notebook, and the pencil to Andrew.

Nodding, Andrew stuffed the note into his pants pocket. "I'll see that Larry gets it," he promised.

Roger smiled. "Thank you."

Leaving the cell, Andrew locked the door behind him, then shoved the keys into his pants pocket. Before he had a chance to leave the hole, Tess appeared before him. "Did you meet with Roger?" she asked.

Andrew nodded. "Yes. He's written a message for his brother. I'm about to take it to Larry now."

"Good." Tess glanced at the metal ceiling, then turned her gaze back toward Andrew. "Don't dally, Angel Boy, but act as soon as the Father tells you to. Time is of the essence, so make every second count. Souls are at stake in this assignment."

Andrew nodded acquiescence. "I will." Tess vanished.

He strode down the hall and up the stairs toward the rows of cells on the third floor. A grim expression of determination etched the angel of death's face. He was determined to do whatever he could (and whatever the Father allowed) to get through to Larry before it was too late. If Larry made the mistake of accepting that chip and worshipping Puccini's statue, he would be past all hope of salvation, beyond anyone's help. He would be condemned to Hell. Somehow, Andrew had to prevent Larry's hostility toward Rafael from stopping him from doing what he had to.

Andrew entered the row of cells where Larry and Rafael were housed. "Open 34!" he called. A buzz sounded down the hall, and the cell door slid open.

Rafael, slouched on his cot, smiled and raised his hand in greeting, but Larry just scowled. Rafael had slid a thin, threadbare pillow behind his back against the wall, Andrew noticed; its soft edges stuck out from behind his sides. The sun had set a few moments before; now a soft twilight glow came through the window.

"Andrew, I've had it!" Larry leaped to his feet, glaring down at Rafael. "Get this—this _Chicano_—out of my cell! I can't stand him. I can't stand Chicanos!"

Andrew shook his head, an amused smile creasing his forehead. "I can't do that, Larry," he told the prisoner. "My orders come from above, and I can't change them." He glanced down at the Hispanic angel. "Rafael will be your roommate until further notice."

Larry slumped down onto his own cot, shifting his gaze to the floor. The mattress made a shallow hollow beneath him as he shifted position. He did not respond.

"Larry, I just came from seeing your brother, Roger." Andrew pulled the note out of his pocket. "He wrote you a note."

Larry rose to his feet, holding out his hand but not looking into Andrew's eyes. Andrew handed him the note. Without a word, Larry perched on the edge of the cot to read the note. Andrew and Rafael exchanged glances.

At last, Larry wadded the note up and tossed it into the plastic wastebasket. Snarling, he turned on Andrew. "You tell that—that religious fanatic—I have no intention of becoming one! There is no God, and I'm not about to worry about that stuff!" 

**END OF CHAPTER 2 **

3


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

With a sigh, Andrew inclined his head. "I'll relay your message." He left the cell.

For the next few minutes, Larry paced back and forth, hands in his pockets. Leaning against the brick wall on his own cot, with one leg folded across his knee, Rafael sat watching him. The rough bricks pressed the thin cotton fabric of his blue shirt against his back. The Hispanic angel did not say a word.

At last, Larry turned on his roommate, fists clenched. "I can't stand you staring at me!"

Rafael chuckled. "Larry, I know you can't stand having me room with you at all." He rose to his feet and positioned his pillow at the head of the cot. "But I _am_ here, and we're just going to have to make the best of it."

Sullenly, Larry sank down on his cot. Rafael plumped up his pillow, then straightened his back.

He slowly approached Larry's cot and perched next to his roommate. His voice softened. "You know, Larry, I haven't known you more than a few hours, but I get the feeling you've had a hard life before you ever came here."

Grimacing, Larry nodded. He rose to his feet and leaned against the wall, shoulders hunched. "Always."

Rafael leaned forward. "Have you always lived in California?"

Larry did not answer for a moment. He just folded his right leg backward till his heel rested against the wall. At last, without looking at Rafael, he inclined his head.

"Where?" Rafael asked. "Los Angeles?" He folded his hands in his lap, still leaning forward, half-turning his body to face his roommate.

Larry shrugged. "Yeah." He spat on the floor. "The ghetto." He shook his head. "I saw too many Chicanos there. I was always getting into fights with them. My grandmother hated them, and I do, too."

Rafael resisted the urge to stand up and touch the man's shoulder. Larry, he knew, would close up like a clam if Rafael went too fast. The angel would have to proceed slowly and cautiously.

"There's a lot of gangs in the ghettos," Rafael said, at last. "Too often, a boy has to join one just to belong somewhere."

"You've got that right!" Larry snorted. "Yeah, I belonged to one. As you said, I had to." He shook his head, then planted his right heel on the floor. "Had to belong somewhere." He shrugged. "Besides, it was a way to make money."

Rafael slowly rose to his feet. He ambled across the cell till he reached the wall opposite Larry. "I see." He pivoted to look at his roommate. "Jobs must have been plenty scarce in your neighborhood."

"The only jobs I might have gotten didn't pay enough." Larry waved his hand in dismissal. "I didn't like to work, anyway. Still don't. I made more money stealing hubcaps than I would have, working in some stupid gas station or grocery store." He stared up at the deepening twilight outside their window.

"I see." Rafael paused, gazing down at table next to him. "Sounds as if your family was pretty poor."

"It was." Larry shook his head. "My parents died when Roger and I were just boys. We had to live with our grandmother. She was a good woman—don't get her wrong. But she was on welfare, and she couldn't get us much. We often had to steal just to eat." He sighed. "She's dead now."

Rafael leaned against the cell door. "How did you survive that?"

Larry shrugged. "The way any boy survives, I reckon. I just wanted to play, so I hung out on the streets when I wasn't in school. I joined a gang—got my kicks with them. Got in a lot of trouble doing it, but it was better than studying or working."

He approached the table. Holding a cigarette to his lips, he ignited it, then took a deep puff. As he blew out a wreath of smoke, he looked at Rafael's chin. "I made up my mind, when I was a teenager, that I was going to have the life my grandma couldn't give me. Only, I was a bad student—flunked out of the 10th grade and dropped out of high school. Wasn't gonna go to college. Tried to join the army, but they wouldn't take me."

Rafael inclined his head in acknowledgment. "So you turned to crime to survive."

Larry nodded. "Yeah. Stole a lot of hubcaps, shoplifted a lot of stores. Sold drugs, too. Stayed in the gang for a long time, then I went onto bigger things." His voice turned hard. "I would have quite a haul with the money I got from that grocery store if the stupid cops hadn't caught me!"

He gritted his teeth, then kicked the frame of his cot bed. "Roger _would_ have to be a goody two-shoes—he studied hard. Said he was going to go to college when he grew up, so he could get out of the ghetto. Wouldn't join a gang, either. Instead, he did odd jobs to make money. Never got into trouble once. Went to college, got his degree, became an architect." He gave the finger to the wall opposite. "And now he's become a religious fanatic. I hate it!" He slumped back on the cot, shoulders slouched, cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Rafael moved toward the corner and leaned against the wall. "Didn't your grandmother ever take you boys to church?"

Larry snorted again. "No, and I'm glad. I would have hated church. Nothing but hypocrites—that's all they are!" He glared at Rafael's forehead, then shifted his gaze to the angel's chin. "Like Roger."

Rafael said no more. Larry rose to his feet and approached the cell door, resting his forehead against the bars. Watching him, the angel bit his lower lip.

_Please, Father,_ Rafael silently prayed, _soften Larry's heart and make him receptive to Your message. Give me an opening to get through to him. Or if not me, then one of the other angels._

He pulled a soft cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face. _It's hot in here. They need to turn on the air-conditioning!_ To his relief, a cool breeze permeated the room. Miraculously, the air-conditioner had been switched on. He smiled at the ceiling, then returned to his own cot. _Thank You, Father!_

As the cold metal bars pressed against his cheeks and his forehead, memories came to the fore in Larry's mind. Larry thought about the moment he'd entered the store, navy-blue ski mask covering his face and revolver in his jacket…how satisfying it had been to point that revolver at the terrified cashier and order her to empty out the cash register…the adrenalin racing in his bloodstream when he'd rushed out, heavy, bulging bag dangling in his hand, toward his car…and the rage he'd felt when the police cars had cornered him six blocks down, forcing him to stop. The thought that he'd have to spend six more years in this place before he could go free again really grated on him. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

Meanwhile, Andrew returned to the hole, where he found Roger sitting slouched on the cot, back against the metal wall. For a second, Roger straightened his back, a mixture of hope and apprehension etched on his face as the angel walked in.

"Andrew!" Roger rose to his feet. "You saw my brother?"

Andrew took a deep breath. He dreaded giving Roger the bad news. He knew Roger would take it hard, as he loved his brother so. Somehow, he would have to encourage Roger to keep on believing.

Sighing the angel of death nodded. "Yes, I did, Roger, but he rejected what you tried to tell him."

Misery welled in Roger's eyes. Without a word, he sank back onto the cot, shoulders slumped. _Please, God, help him!_ Andrew silently prayed.

Approaching the prisoner, Andrew crouched on the cot next to him. The mattress made a shallow dent beneath his body as he positioned it to face the prisoner. "Don't give up, Roger. God is working on your brother, even though you can't see it yet."

Roger turned to look the angel in the face. "You're a believer, too?"

Andrew smiled. "In God? Yes. In Jesus, His Son? Definitely." He touched the man's arm. "Let's pray for Larry, shall we?"

The two bowed their heads. "God," Roger prayed, "in another part of the prison is my brother, whose heart is so hardened toward You. Tomorrow, he's going to sell his soul forever unless You can reach him first. I beg You to save him, God!"

His voice shook. "Please don't let him lose all hope of salvation." He swallowed hard. "Amen."

"Amen," Andrew echoed.

Rising to his feet, the angel of death felt a sudden weight in his pants pocket. Reaching into it, he pulled a pocket-sized Bible out. With a smile, he handed it to Roger. "Here's a present, Roger. This will give you something to read while you have to stay down here."

Roger took the Bible, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, Andrew." Gratitude shone in his eyes as he ran his fingers over its soft black leather covers. Andrew left.

"Well?" Tess appeared in the narrow hallway, folding her arms across her chest.

Andrew shrugged. "It's in God's hands, now." He glanced toward the solid iron door next to him. "God is going to have to soften Larry's heart, or he's going to lose his soul tomorrow."

Tess nodded agreement. "Don't worry, Mr. Halo. God is working on Larry. You've done what you're supposed to do, for now, so just do your job until the Father tells you otherwise. I'll be on standby until needed."

She vanished. Andrew returned to the first floor and trudged down the hall toward another row of cells. 

**END OF CHAPTER 3 **

3


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

For the rest of the night, Roger stayed awake, communing with God. Divine peace permeated the prisoner's heart, easing his worry for his brother and taking away all remaining dread of the next day. At suppertime, Andrew brought him a metal tray. A tin plate rested on it, containing two soft rolls and a small mound of soft cooked broccoli. The hungry prisoner ate every bite.

_My last meal,_ he thought. _Not likely they intend to feed us tomorrow morning._

As he ate, Roger reminisced about the dread day, four years before, when his brother had been convicted of armed robbery. And the day the judge had sentenced Larry had been even worse. How it had grieved Roger, to know that his kid brother would have to serve a long prison sentence! And how it had hurt him to watch his brother be marched out of the courtroom, handcuffed, to be returned to the county jail and transferred to San Quentin.

Roger remembered the sad moment as if it were yesterday, when his brother had been sentenced to 10 years at the San Quentin prison…

"_Larry Jackson," the judge intoned, "it is the judgment of this court that you be sentenced to 10 years in prison. Your sentence will be carried out at the prison in San Quentin." _

_Roger, sitting in the front row of the visitors' section, had slumped his shoulders in sorrow as the two police officers had cuffed his sullen brother and escorted him out of the courtroom…_

"It's his own fault he's here," he told himself, as he swallowed the last piece of broccoli. "He didn't have to stick up that grocery store. And if he accepts the implant tomorrow, the sentence God will give him will be his fault, too. After all, he's been warned."

He shook his head, then set the tin plate and stainless-steel fork on the tray. "I'll just have to keep praying. There might yet be hope for him."

He set the tray on the floor and picked up his Bible, riffling through its crisp, gilt-edged pages. He stayed up all night, reading and praying for Larry. _Air-conditioning sure feels good!_ He smiled.

The next morning, the new warden summoned all the guards to his office. He opened the drapes covering the window, then pulled up the Venetian blinds. Early-morning sunlight streamed into the room, forming a rectangle of reflected light on the tiled floor. The male and female guards stood at attention, waiting for him to speak. At last, he turned to face them, the sunlight spotlighting the tiny tattooed number spanning his forehead. Andrew winced at the sight.

"It seems we've been given some new orders," the warden told them. Turning to a visitor standing next to his desk, he said, "This woman has been sent from above with some orders regarding the rooming arrangements."

Andrew recognized the visitor at once; it was Gloria. She wore a brown corduroy jacket over a light-green cotton blouse. The angel of death gave her a covert wink and a smile of encouragement, then folded his arms across his chest.

"She doesn't have the implant," a female guard said. The warden glowered at Gloria, then nodded.

"It's taking time, getting all the officials chipped, all over the nation," he explained. "That's why some of you don't have it yet—it's the same way at many of the other nation's prisons. Within the month, though, all guards and all other prison officials are expected to have the implant, throughout the nation. Your grace period will end within that time."

The warden nodded toward Gloria. "All right, you have the floor. Go ahead."

Adjusting a sheaf of papers in her arms, Gloria stepped in front of the desk, scanning the assembled guards. The faint smell of perfume wafted toward Andrew's nose. Apparently, Gloria had sprayed some perfume below her ears before coming here.

"You've been given orders—effective as of now—to room all relatives in the same cells," she said. "Excluding relatives of opposite genders, of course. So if there are any parents and their children, brothers, sisters, or cousins incarcerated here in San Quentin, move them into the same cells now." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Gloria stepped away; the warden took her place. "Thank you, Gloria." With a heavy sigh, he scanned the assembled guards, a scowl etched on his face. Clearly, he did not like what they'd just been ordered to do, Andrew knew. "All right, you have your orders." The warden glared at them. "Now carry them out!"

The male and female guards filed out the door, one at a time, with Andrew bringing up the rear. Outside the door, he paused to let Gloria catch up. "Good job, Gloria," he said in a low voice. "Perhaps if Roger is roomed with Larry, he will have an easier time convincing his brother. Rafael's done all he can, but Tess and Monica are still on standby."

Gloria nodded, then brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I agree." She vanished.

Andrew chuckled. _Gloria certainly is efficient,_ he thought. _She knows how to get the job done._ He raised his face toward the ceiling. _Thank You, Father!_

Andrew marched down the stairs to the basement, then entered the hole. Unlocking the heavy iron door, he strode in to find Roger reading his Bible.

"Roger, I've got good news!" Andrew beamed. "We're under orders to room all relatives together. That means I'll be moving you to Larry's cell immediately."

Roger slipped the Bible into his pants pocket and leaped to his feet, joy etched on his tanned face. "Thank the Lord!" he said, fervently.

"I agree." Andrew gestured toward the entrance.

Roger followed Andrew through the basement and up the stairs. The two took the elevator to the third floor, where Andrew led him down another corridor toward Larry's cell.

"Open 34!" he called. A buzz sounded in his ears as the cell door slid open.

"Well, Larry, you're getting your wish," he said, cheerfully. "Your brother is going to room with you now, so Rafael is being transferred."

He looked from Rafael to Larry as he spoke. Rafael grinned.

Slowly, Larry rose to his feet. Irritation surged in the con's heart. How dare the prison move his goody-goody brother to his cell? This was even worse than having to room with a Hispanic. Now he would have to endure Roger's preaching, face to face!

"You think this is going to be better?" he shouted, glowering at Roger. "I don't want to room with Roger either!"

Andrew shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "Larry," he chided, "Roger's your brother. I should think you'd want to spend some time with him before he dies this morning." As Rafael joined him, the angel of death added, "If I were you, I'd listen to what he has to say. Roger loves you, Larry, very much."

The two angels left the cell, Andrew clanging the door behind him. Larry clenched his fists as he glared at his brother, fixing his gaze on Roger's chin.

"You—_you—_!" Larry shouted. "You hypocrite! You jerk! You Bible-thumping bigot!" He took a deep breath, then gave Roger the finger. "You're nothing but a religious fanatic and a hypocrite, just like all Christians!"

He shoved Roger against the wall, fingertips digging into his brother's neck. Roger winced in evident pain. "All Christians are hypocrites! Tell me one good reason I should become like you!"

"He doesn't want you to become like him, Larry!"

The stern alto voice startled both men; they whirled to find two women standing opposite the cell from them. Heavenly light poured from their bodies.

"He wants you to be _forgiven_, like him," the heavy-set, chocolate-skinned angel went on, a stern expression etched on her face. "Ready to meet God. And you do have a lot to be forgiven for, Larry Jackson." She wagged her finger for emphasis.

As she put her hands on her hips, the angel looked from the horror-stricken Larry to the awe-stricken Roger. Rubbing his neck, the latter gaped at the other angel, whose long reddish-brown hair hung past her shoulders.

"Monica!" Roger gasped. "I—I remember you—you came to see me last evening!"

"Yes, I did." Monica smiled. "Tess is an angel, too. Sent by God," she added, looking at Larry. "He has a message for you."

Tess nodded agreement. "That's right. And we don't have a lot of time to spend convincing you to accept that, Larry, so just do so now." The severe expression returned to her ebony face. "Don't sneer at your brother—what he has to say to you is vitally important. Don't avert your gaze from me, either!"

Larry's body shook uncontrollably. His face turned white. He backed against the wall, eyes wide open, heart pounding. "I—I can't believe it!" he muttered. "Angels?" He rubbed his eyes. "No! Can't be!"

He shook his head violently. "Get—get me out of here," he gasped. Raising his voice to a screech, he hollered, _"Get me out of here!"_ He rushed toward the cell door, beating his fists against the cold metal bars lining it. He yearned to rush out of the cell, down the hall, anywhere to get away from the two angels.

Monica approached him and touched his shoulder; he jerked away and whirled on her, panic etching his face. "It's all right. Don't be afraid," she said gently. "God sent us to you, because He loves you so much. God wants you to know that you can turn to Him even now, for love. Forgiveness. Peace." She paused. "The same peace your brother enjoys, even though his life is about to end." Sadness etched her face. "Has a life of crime given _you_ any peace, Larry?"

Larry sagged against the cell door, the hard, unyielding bars pressing his thin cotton shirt against his back. Sighing, shoulders slumped, he shook his head. "You mean—there really _is_ a God?" he asked, his voice subdued. Staring at Monica's nose, he bit his lower lip. "And you really are an angel?" Monica nodded. "An angel with a most beautiful accent," he whispered.

The Irish-tongued angel smiled. "Yes, we really are angels, and yes, there is really is a God. Look at me, Larry—don't turn your eyes away. Look at mine." Biting his lower lip, Larry did as he was told.

Tess stepped forward. Monica glanced at her, then looked back at Larry. "Listen to Tess. She's stern, but she knows what she's talking about," she exhorted him. Larry raised his hands in surrender, then trudged toward the left corner. He leaned against the wall, slowly exhaling. He glanced up at the window. Faint, twinkling stars dotted the velvet sky above the prison wall.

"Look at me," Tess ordered. Larry obeyed. "Larry, the day is coming when God the Father is going to send God the Son—Jesus Christ—back to this earth, to rule it." Tess approached him. "Only people who have made their peace with Him will be allowed to live on it. And only those who accept His love and forgiveness will be able to make peace with Him."

She paused, sadness welling in her eyes. "Nobody who accepts the implant and worships Antonio Puccini's statue will be allowed to have a share in His Kingdom, Larry. All who do so will be consigned to God's wrath and condemned to Hell." Larry bit his lower lip and took a quick, shallow breath.

The supervisor angel fixed her gaze on his eyes. Her own eyes softened. "Baby, God doesn't want that for you. He wants you to live forever with Him, not suffer the torments of the Lake of Fire for all eternity." She touched his arm. "He wants you to enjoy His love, which is free for the asking. But you've got to decide if you're going to accept that love."

"Listen to them!" Roger pleaded with his brother. "I make no claims to be perfect, Larry, but I know that God loves me and that He's forgiven me of everything I've done wrong." He brushed his light-brown hair back. "Don't you want to know that He's forgiven you, too?"

Larry sighed. He folded his right leg, resting his ankle against the brick wall behind him. "It'll cost me my life."

"Yes, it will." Monica laid a hand on his shoulder. "Millions and millions of believers are going to die in the next few years, because they refuse to have the chip implanted in their bodies or worship Puccini's statue. Millions already have, just in recent months, all over the world. But they will be in Heaven with God—in the Father's arms, enjoying His love. And when Jesus comes back, the Father will resurrect them—give them new bodies. Bodies that can never die, be sick, or get hurt." She gazed into his eyes. "You can have one of those bodies, too, Larry."

Roger slowly approached his brother. "Please listen to them." He gripped his brother's shoulder. "Your soul depends on it, Larry. I kid you not." He dropped his hand to his side and took a step back.

For a long moment, Larry leaned against the wall, looking from his brother to Tess to Monica. The overhead light shed its soft, sickly glow throughout the cell. At last, he dropped his gaze in surrender.

"All right." He exhaled slowly, slumping his shoulders, voice subdued. "What does God want me to do?"

Monica turned to Roger. "You tell him," she urged. "You know what to say."

Nodding acquiescence, Roger turned to face his brother. "Well, for starters, admit that you're a sinner," he explained. "That's what I had to do. Believe that Jesus died for you and that He can save you. Then ask Him to take up residence in your heart and to save your soul. He'll do it, if you ask Him sincerely."

Larry folded his arms across his chest, looking at his brother. "He will really do that for me?" He bit his lower lip. "For this—this con man? This thief?"

Smiling, Roger nodded. "He's done it for murderers on death row. He did it for another thief who died right next to Him, 2,000 years ago. He'll most definitely do it for you." He smiled wryly. "Our grandmother loved us and she did her best for us. Tried her hardest to raise us up right." He shook his head. "But she failed us in one respect—she didn't take us to church, and she didn't teach us about God." Slipping his grandmother's photo out of his pocket, he gazed down at it and sighed. "I wish she were up there, waiting for us."

"She is." Andrew appeared in the room, wearing a light beige suit. The same Heavenly light pouring off the other angels' bodies flowed from his. The two prisoners gaped at him. "Yes, I'm an angel, too. An angel of death." He smiled. "Your grandmother came to faith in Jesus shortly before she died. You weren't aware of it, but another angel was sent to her as she lay in the hospital waiting for death, 10 years ago. She ministered God's love to your grandmother, and your grandmother accepted it."

He paused. "When she died, I took her Home. She's waiting for you with open arms—both of you. And she's praying for both of you, right now—especially you, Larry."

Nodding, Larry dropped his arms to his sides and bowed his head. He rested his right foot on the floor next to the other. "Jesus," he prayed, "I—I'm not a good man, as You know. I—I'm a very bad man. I've made some really—really bad choices." He took a deep breath. His voice faltered. "I don't want to make another bad choice now. This one will cost me my soul, they tell me. I want to make the right choice this time. I want to choose You."

He took another deep breath, then squeezed his eyes shut. "I ask You to forgive me, Jesus. And to live inside me. Please make me new. Give me Your peace." He paused. "And make me ready to die." He swallowed. "Amen."

The angels cheered; Roger threw his arms around his brother's neck. "Now I can die!" he exulted. "Now that I know we're going to Heaven together."

Larry smiled wryly. "Well, that's better than staying in prison for—for how long?" He looked at the two angels.

"Until Jesus returns, less than three years from now. In early September, 2009. That will be exactly seven years from early September, 2002." Andrew looked from Larry to Roger. "When it's time for you to die, in just a short while, I will take you two Home." He paused. "One at a time."

A beaming smile spread across Andrew' face. "The Father wants you to know He's proud of you for the choice you just made, Larry. He will be with you and sustain you when you face death at the guillotine. He is waiting to welcome you when I take you to Him."

He turned to Roger. "You, too, Roger. The same goes for you. The Father is proud of your faith and your dedication. He will reward you when the time comes."

Roger smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I have my reward." He put his arm around Larry's shoulder. "Right here!"

Laughing, Tess and Monica agreed. "We must go now, but we will see you in the prison yard," Tess told the two men. She and Monica vanished.

"I will see you there, too, very soon." Andrew disappeared. 

**END OF CHAPTER 4 **

5


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

A few minutes later, the now-familiar buzz down the hall startled both men. The cell door slid open; the same burly guard who had marched Roger to the hole the evening before framed the doorway.

"All right, prisoners, it's time!" He glanced at his watch. "And you have a choice—you will accept the implant and worship His Excellency's statue, or you will die!" He grinned. "It's your choice." He glared at Roger. "If it'd been up to me, you'd have stayed in the hole until this moment."

Neither Jackson answered. Silently, the two followed the guard down the hall. They took the elevator to the first floor and marched out the side entrance into the prison yard. The early-morning sunlight blinded them as the guard shoved them toward the concrete wall, then left.

"I guess they'll call us when it's our turn," Larry muttered, shading his eyes. Roger nodded agreement. Larry smiled wryly.

_It sure is sunny,_ he thought. _A perfect day for our executions! The sun's still low in the sky, but it'll be up soon enough._ He grimaced. _Oh, well, we'll be dead before it gets hot out here. The air feels cool, for now. And by the time the temperature's risen to any great extent, we'll be in Heaven, I reckon._ A cool breeze ruffled his hair and caressed his face.

A few minutes later, Larry's eyes finished adjusting. Leaning against the hard, unyielding concrete wall, he gazed at the implant vendor stand, set up in the middle of the prison yard, then at the guillotine towering next to it. A white, gleaming marble statue of Antonio Puccini stood to the right of the vendor stand.

He shook his head. "I came so close to falling for their lies!" he whispered.

Roger smiled wryly, then brushed his hair back. "And too many are following through, as you can see." He pointed at the line of male prisoners slowly passing the vendor stand. Each one either held out his right hand or wiped his hair away from his forehead. Then he or she stood stock-still as the man injected him with the chip via a hypodermic needle. He then added a small tattoo consisting of the prisoner's number. The prefix, Larry knew, would be 666 and a hyphen. The prisoner would then approach the statue and kneel before it for a moment, head bowed, before being led away. Larry shook his head at the sight.

_They must plan to chip the female prisoners later,_ he thought, _after they've finished with the men. Too many prisoners, evidently, to bring everyone out here at once._

"Remember when we took American history in school?" Roger broke into his brother's thoughts. Larry nodded, not taking his gaze away from the prisoners condemning themselves to eternal death.

"I was just thinking about Patrick Henry," Roger mulled. "About the speech he made. I memorized that speech as a boy." He chuckled. "Those were stirring words he ended his speech with: 'Give me liberty or give me death!'"

Larry laughed. "Yeah, they were. But why are you thinking about him now?" He looked his brother in the eye as he spoke.

"Because, in a very real sense, Puccini's henchmen have perverted his words." Roger shook his head. "In effect, they're telling us, 'We're giving you a choice. We'll give you the mark or give you death.'"

Larry bit his lower lip. He could see his brother's point. He folded his right leg backward, resting his heel against the wall behind him. The concrete surface pressed his thin cotton shirt against his back. Subdued voices from throughout the prison yard reached his ears. _It won't be long now,_ he thought.

As the two watched the other prisoners milling around, waiting their turns to stand in line, Larry smiled. A peace had descended on his soul after he'd accepted Jesus into his heart, and it had held him steady since. He had never known such peace in his life. It felt so good, to be facing imminent death and to not be afraid of it.

_I wish I'd known this peace before,_ he thought. _I wasted so many years, rebelling against God and against society._

He sighed. Roger patted his arm, eyes sympathetic. In the next instant, as Larry gaped at him, Roger stiffened, dropping his arm to his side, eyes wide. "Hey, look!" Roger pointed across the prison yard. "That looks like the man who was rooming with you when Andrew brought me to your cell."

Larry peered at the man kneeling in front of another prisoner. Sure enough, it _was_ Rafael. His shadow stretched out behind him, twice as long as the kneeling figure himself.

"Yeah. He must be trying to encourage that prisoner," he said. Larry sighed. "He was far nicer to me than I was to him. I hated him because he's Hispanic."

He shook his head at his own prejudice, then slid down the wall into a crouching position. Roger did the same, then crossed his legs Indian-style.

"God is here with you, gentlemen." Tess appeared in front of them, followed by Monica. "He loves you, and He will not let you suffer when your moment comes. We will stay right here with you until they call you forward." She moved to the side. Smiling encouragingly down at the Jackson brothers, Monica followed her supervisor.

Roger and Larry exchanged grateful smiles. "Thanks, Tess," Roger said. He raised his hand. "Monica."

For the next half-hour, the two prisoners sat watching the other prisoners and chatting with the two angels. The guards would force a group of prisoners to line up at the vendor stand to accept the implant; those who refused were ordered toward the guillotine instead. The sky turned blue; fluffy clouds drifted overhead. Slowly, the temperature rose; beads of sweat began to form on both men's foreheads. Roger reached up to wipe his face, several times.

Larry averted his eyes every time the heavy blade came crashing down on a prisoner's head. It would not be long, he knew, until his own head would be sliced off by that same blade. _It won't be long for Roger, either,_ he thought.

"Larry?"

A startled Larry raised his head to find Rafael standing over him. This time, instead of a prison uniform, he had on a light green shirt and a dark pair of blue jeans. The Hispanic angel knelt in front of Larry.

"God is proud of you, Larry." He smiled. "He wants you to know that." He looked up at Tess and Monica, then turned his gaze back to the two brothers. "You will be with Him very soon. And with your grandmother, too."

Larry and Roger exchanged startled glances. When Larry looked back toward Rafael, he noticed that his former roommate had vanished. _Could he be an angel, too?_ Roger gaped at him, the same question in his own eyes.

"How—how many angels does this prison have?" Larry shook his head, mouth wide open.

"As—as many as it needs, I guess." Roger's voice shook. He turned to Tess and Monica, who stood nearby. "Is—is Rafael an angel, too?"

Monica nodded. "Yes, Roger. He is."

Larry shook his head, open-mouthed. _Will miracles never cease?!_ As a sudden thought struck his brain, he turned to his brother. "You know, Roger—your continued survival is a miracle." He furrowed his eyebrows. "How did you manage to stay alive, with the grocery stores bare and food prices so high, and no way to buy any food without the implant?"

Roger smiled. "A wealthy friend had a lot of food stockpiled in his home. He invited a bunch of us to come to his house every day, to eat. It saved us from starvation, as you can imagine."

Larry shook his head. "Wonder how the food held out," he muttered, "with so many people eating it every day."

"God kept it from running out, Larry." Monica approached him and knelt before him. "God has called a number of people, throughout the nation and all over the world, to stock up on food and bottled water so that they and their neighbors would have a way to eat. He called them to do that, before the Middle East war started, because He knew that a worldwide famine would follow its outbreak."

She glanced toward Roger. "A number of people, like Roger, who would have otherwise starved to death have been kept alive by these people's generosity. God has multiplied their food, to keep it from running out."

She rose to her feet and returned to Tess. Larry shook his head, marveling at God's miraculous works.

"Larry! Roger!" The guard who had brought them outside strode toward them and waved them up with his revolver. "Line up with these others! Your turn!"

Acquiescing, the two men rose to their feet. "We won't be accepting the implant," Roger told the guard. "You may as well take us to the guillotine." Larry nodded agreement.

"You're _what_?!" The guard's face turned beet-red. "Very well, then! Your choice—your funeral!"

He shoved Larry toward the guillotine. Roger followed. Several other prisoners stood in line, waiting for their executions.

As Larry and Roger took their places in that line, Andrew appeared next to them, Heavenly light pouring off his body. He wore the same light-beige suit he had worn the last time they'd seen him. "Don't worry," he told them. "I'm going to stay right here with you until it's time to take you Home."

The angel of death smiled. "God is waiting for you both with open arms. He's sent several angels of death to this prison, to escort the souls of all the martyred prisoners. You can't see the others, but they're here, and they're standing next to the other prisoners just as I'm standing next to you."

Drawing a gleaming pocket watch out of his pants pocket, Andrew opened it to look at its face. Clicking the lid shut, he slid it back down, then inserted his hand after it. Larry pivoted to look at Tess and Monica, who smiled encouragingly at him. Larry turned back to face the prisoner in front of him.

For the next 10 minutes, Roger and Larry waited their turns. More prisoners lined up behind them to take their own turns dying. Andrew stayed close to the two Jacksons, hands in his pants pockets. When the last prisoner in front of them had been beheaded, Roger touched his brother's shoulder.

"I'll go first," he offered. "That way, I'll be waiting for you when you come."

He strode toward the executioner manning the guillotine. "You can still change your mind," the executioner told him.

Roger shook his head. "No. I'm not. I'm ready to die."

Without a word, he marched toward the guillotine, then waved at Larry. Kneeling, he laid his neck across the half-circle carved into the middle of the front.

"Courage, Larry!" he told his brother. Before Larry had a chance to answer, the blade crashed down on Roger's neck. His head landed in the basket. Andrew disappeared.

_Just a few more seconds,_ Larry thought. _Then it's my turn. Just hope Andrew gets back in a hurry!_

Andrew reappeared next to him. Larry smiled at him. "Well, Andrew," he said, "I'm ready to meet God."

Andrew patted his arm. "And He's ready to meet you. Your brother and your grandmother are waiting there for you now."

The executioner approached Larry. "Will you take the implant and worship Antonio Puccini's statue?"

Larry shook his head, then wiped his sweaty forehead. "No, I won't, executioner."

"Then you must die!" Grabbing his arm, the executioner dragged him toward the guillotine. Larry knelt to lay his head in it.

"God is with you, Larry," he heard Andrew say.

A second later, as a Heavenly light blinded his eyes, he heard the blade slide down, but he felt no pain when it made impact with his neck. Immediately afterward, he found himself standing near the guillotine, next to Andrew. His bloodied head had landed in the basket in front, he noticed. Twenty more prisoners stood in line, waiting to die.

"Well, Larry." Andrew smiled. "Are you ready to go Home?" A beaming Larry nodded.

The other angels stood watching, joyful smiles spread across their faces. They watched Andrew and Larry disappear. They observed the other angels of death staying close to the remaining condemned prisoners. Gloria appeared next to them.

"I'm so glad!" The nearsighted angel grinned, then pushed her glasses up her nose.

"I am, too." Monica smiled happily. "I'm so glad for Larry and Roger." A shadow creased her forehead. "Unfortunately, there's so many prisoners here who are going to make the wrong choice, Tess." As she turned to her supervisor, Monica's smile curved downward into a frown.

"Yes, there are." Rafael came up to them, a sad expression etched on his youthful-looking face. "That's why the Father has told me to stay here, to talk to them. It should be possible to convince some of them to make the right decision, as Larry finally has."

Tess nodded, folding her arms across her chest. "Then you'd better get back to work, Angel Child, because there are still many prisoners in the yard who haven't had their turns yet."

Nodding acquiescence, Rafael approached a prisoner standing near the wall. The supervisor angel turned to Monica and Gloria. Before Tess had a chance to speak, Gloria frowned. "How many believers have died, so far?"

"Many thousands in the last few months. All over the world." Monica shook her head. "And this is only the beginning. Millions and millions of believers will die as martyrs before it's over."

"Yes, they will. Only a small minority will still be alive when Jesus returns." Tess shook her head. "And many more unbelievers will die spiritually, when they take that mark. Fortunately, many are still undecided, as yet—they're the ones we must reach. Rafael is going to stay, to talk to the undecided ones here in the prison yard. Unfortunately, the judgments in progress are working against us. Many unbelievers and some believers have already died of starvation, disease, and crime, and there will be numerous deaths to follow in the next few years."

Tess sighed. "Well, we'd better get back to work. The Father has another assignment for us. And we'd better complete it quickly, because next month, He's sending us to Petra for Christmas, to visit and assist some old friends."

The three angels disappeared. Overhead, a dove flew, softly cooing. 

**THE END **

**©2005 by KathyG. **

**Well, this is it. This is as far as I've gotten in my end-times series, and whether I'll ever finish it remains to be seen. In the meantime, I hope you readers have all enjoyed what I've posted!**

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